


Long Time Listener

by commanderlurker (honeybee592)



Series: OTP: You're the boss [19]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, F/M, Happy Ending, Heartbreak, Orgasm Delay, Voice Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2018-06-09 22:45:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6926983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeybee592/pseuds/commanderlurker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bull is a late night radio show host. Grace is getting over a break up. A chance encounter over a pile of dropped cheese changes everything.</p><p>Modern AU setting retaining the races and magic of Thedas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Long Time Listener

Grace rubbed her eyes and stifled a yawn. She couldn’t be that tired. She’d only spent a couple of hours listening to the radio last night. She went through the motions of feeding the cats, filling each bowl with the requisite scoop of dry biscuits and spoonfuls of wet jelly meat. She emptied the litter trays, sprayed them out and left them upside down to dry.

“Oi, sleepy head. What are you doing?” Sera’s twang cut through her fog.

“Hmm?” Grace looked up, frowning.

Sera pointed to the litter trays. “You’ve washed them all. Now there’s nowhere for the cats to crap and by the looks of it, Smokey’s about to drop one.”

Grace muttered as she rushed to fill a tray and put it down next to Smokey. Then, when it didn’t look like he’d get in, she picked him up and plonked him down. “Poop here, okay?” She waggled her finger for emphasis.

“What wrong with you these days?” Sera asked. “You’re all sad and… sad. It’s really boring. Why can’t you be you again?”

Why couldn’t Grace be Grace? She hadn’t felt like herself for a long time now.

“It’s because that girl left you, isn’t it.” Sera didn’t need to bother asking. But that girl wasn’t just _that girl_. She’d been _Grace’s_ girl. “You’ve got to get over her. You’re no fun.”

Grace thanked Sera for her valuable input and did her best to get through the day without thinking about that girl.

*

Grace couldn’t sleep. Her eyes were closed and she had the blanket tucked up over her shoulder, her pillow was fluffed and her nightdress hugged her, but she couldn’t sleep. Someone was missing. She rolled over. The radio alarm clock read 00:03 in harsh red lines. DJ Bull would be on. Grace flicked the volume dial, slowly pushing it up as DJ Bull’s voice filled the room.

“...can be statues. Those people, they stand tall and proud, feet planted in the ground. The tide rises up to lick and devour their feet, and they think themselves kings for the sea to obey. The tide retreats. The sun sets, the sun rises. The tide returns. Those who are statues can’t see that they are deceiving themselves…”

One of his monologues. Grace sighed, content, and snuggled onto her side. She listened as he talked, his low voice rumbling in her ears. Here, in the dark, there might only be the two of them in the whole city. She didn’t really understand what he was talking about. A metaphor for something. Qunari were all about their metaphors.

“You are not a statue. You are you. You see the tide rise and the tide fall. You see the sun rise and the sun set. You know your place, your purpose. You are happy being you.”

She frowned. She wasn’t happy being herself. But she was happy listening to DJ Bull. In the background, the sound of waves lapping at a beach grew louder as he wrapped up his talk. For a long minute all she heard were the waves. They lulled her, her eyelids finally drooping enough to stay closed. Quietly, as if it were part of the music of the sea, a synth keyboard chimed in, growing louder, other instruments joining in. Soon, electric loops waved about, filling Grace’s ears, thrumming through her head. She reached out and dialled the volume down, and as she slept, the calm beat thrummed through her dreams, DJ Bull’s voice undulating with the synth.

*

Morning came too soon. Grace did what she could to avoid it by standing in the shower. She tilted her head back and let the water drum against her skull. Up in a corner where no one could reach, she spotted a lone, long red hair curled and stuck to the wall. The owner of that hair hadn’t lived here for months. She cried for fifteen minutes.

DJ Bull’s words came to her while she rummaged through her drawers. _You are happy being you_. Maybe she was like one of those statues Bull had been talking about last night. Maybe the tide was chipping away at her, eating her in little pieces. She wondered if she should go to the beach after work, to stand in the sea to see if she was a statue.

She went to work instead.

She went to the supermarket on her way home. They had a sale on those cheap brie wheels. She bought four, plus a small chunk of gorgonzola. The grapes looked nice so she put a bunch in her basket. And since she appeared to be splashing out, she chose a fancy packet of crackers, ones with flakes of real sea salt. She still had quince jelly at home.

*

At 3 a.m. she woke from a strange dream, sweating, her legs in a tangle. Probably too much cheese. She turned the radio on by reflex. The person speaking wasn’t DJ Bull, but it was still Bull’s show. She recognised the man’s voice. He was the haughty one, likely lived in the rich part of town. She wondered what he was doing up so late. Perhaps rich people could afford to keep strange hours. Maybe he’d had cheese dreams too.

“So, you see mages as dangerous beasts who should be collared and leashed like dogs?

“You're putting words in my mouth again, Dorian.”

“But that's what you believe.”

“And you believe everything you read about qunari? Ever try talking to one?”

“I'm talking to one right now.” Haughty Dorian sounded like he was speaking through his teeth.

“But you don't listen. Those things on the side of your head, they're called ears. Try opening them. You'll be amazed at what the world sounds like when you're not busy yapping.” Bull didn't really sound like he was chastising Dorian. More like amused long suffering.

Grace smiled. Bull had him and Dorian knew. The radio was silent for a moment, then Dorian grudgingly accepted that maybe he could do with taking Bull's advice. The two exchanged a friendly goodbye and Bull was alone on the airwaves once more.

“We’re all people,” he said. “We’re all crammed into this city, our only respite from each other the privacy we find in our bathrooms.” He chuckled. “It’s easy to not like a whole group of people just because of who they are and where they live. Doesn’t make it right. We’re all people, and if we could just remember that, then, maybe… No. Dorian will still be an ass.” He laughed again and Grace laughed too. Then she stopped, feeling stupid for laughing in the dark on her own. “No, I kid. Dorian, you’re alright. Just don’t let that compliment go to your head.”

He played a song, one with wailing violins. They sounded distressed, like they were in mourning. The high notes sent shivers down Grace’s spine. She felt the low notes deep in her belly. She found herself crying. Once the song finished, Bull said that the song was a traditional Tevinter wedding song.

“Pretty sad for a wedding, right? But that’s just the thing…” He spoke about Tevinter customs and philosophy, how intertwined the concepts of magic and power had become over their history. Then he started talking about bread. Grace wasn’t sure she’d heard him right, but no, he was talking about bread. About how no matter where you lived, bakers baked and faced the same problems as any other baker living anywhere else. The way he described the kneading process, the rhythmic pulling and pushing of the dough made Grace feel something she hadn’t felt in a long time. She rubbed her legs together, trying to deny the urge but she couldn’t keep it away.

She pictured a pair of hands--male hands, strong and broad--squeezing and kneading, rolling and massaging her body. Making her soft and pliant, easing her tension and worries. She squeezed her own breasts and gasped, but she didn’t stop. She rolled one of her nipples between her fingers and pleasure sparked between her legs. She didn’t know where the feeling had come from, or why a man on the radio talking about bread should have caused it, but the longer Bull spoke, the harder her heart beat, and the wetter she got. She slipped her hand under her night dress. She hadn’t touched herself in a long time but she knew what to do.

*

“Tariffs on wheat have increased due to the volatile situation in Seheron. The Minister of Agriculture has spoken out against claims that wheat prices have been artificially inflated and that the war with Seheron is being used as a ruse to cover increasing demand for whole wheat...”

Grace slapped the radio silent. She hadn’t realised she’d left it on. Only when she got up did she remember what had happened in the night. She felt a moment of shame, but as the water ran in the shower, she reminded herself that she had nothing to be embarrassed about and that she should try and remember to get a loaf of that fancy focaccia on her way home from work.

*

Days and nights came and went. During the day, Grace worked at the cat shelter and Sera told her she was boring. At night, she would go to bed, only to wake up after a few hours, listen to Bull’s voice, come to his words, and fall asleep again. She didn’t mind. She liked her version of boring. She looked forward to going to bed, looked forward to her time with DJ Bull and his sonorous voice. She avoided the times when he had his call-in segment. As much as she enjoyed listening to the regulars like Dorian say their piece only to get put in their place, she enjoyed Bull’s monologues the most. The soundtrack of waves beating against the shore as he spoke provided a rhythm for her fingers. She would stroke herself as fast or as slow as the waves allowed, feeling Bull’s voice vibrate through her body, her pleasure building, rising like the tide before reaching a glorious, tingly peak, and retreating again.

She found her had more energy, now that she slept soundly after her nocturnal adventures. She even called up Cassandra to ask if she might like dinner. They met one evening at the little Antivan restaurant opposite the police station. Cassandra wore her uniform and Grace couldn’t help but stare.

“I had thought you had turned into a recluse,” Cassandra said. “I was glad to get your call. I hope you are well.”

They skirted around the name on both of their lips and managed a delightful evening. Maybe they would remain friends, despite Cassandra’s loyalty to Leliana. That was Cassandra though. Loyal. Loyal to her friends. Loyal to her job. She’d come over to help when Leliana moved out. She carried neatly labelled boxes down the stairs and into a truck. She’d given Grace a look that said so much more than ‘sorry’. Then later, once even the bed had been carried away, she’d come back to that half-empty house, hugged Grace tight, and said she was sorry and she wished it could be different.

Tonight when Cassandra hugged Grace goodbye, there was no apology or regret. Just the tight, loving warmth of a good friend. They said they should do this again, and Cassandra’s smile told Grace she meant it.

Grace came home tired, but good tired. Like she’d achieved something, instead of the usual heavy-boned drag she felt. She stayed up reading until 11 p.m., then DJ Bull’s show started. She put her book down, turned off the light, took off her night dress and snuggled down to listen.

*

How _do_ you pronounce prosciutto? Pro-ske-to? Pro-skewt-o? She’d never be able to order it without looking like a fool.

“A hundred grams of Kalamata olives and two hundred grams of prosciutto, please.”

Grace knew that voice. She looked up from the agony of deli meats on display. Then she looked up some more. The way he said thank you, and ‘enjoy your evening’ to the server…

“Hey, you got any of those little artichoke things? Yeah, the ones that go great on bread.”

It’s him! It’s DJ Bull! Maker, he was huge. And a qunari. She figured he’d be a big guy, what with the deep voice, and really it was no surprise that he was qunari, but she hadn’t ever thought about what he looked like. He wore a singlet that showed off arms thicker than her thighs. Tattoos from wrist to wrist covered his arms, his shoulders. He had an eye patch over his left eye and… those _horns_. They were as wide as his shoulders! Most of the qunari she’d seen had delicate curly horns but Bull’s were thick and long, and pointed up at the end.

The server passed him his orders and he lumbered away. Maker’s breath. She stared after him for a moment before the server’s voice called her back.

“Oh, yes. Two hundred grams of prosciutto, please,” she said.

She grinned and clutched the bag of meat to her chest, only to put it in her basket when she realised she stood in the middle of a supermarket hugging a handful of meat. Prosciutto meant pizza. And pizza meant mozzarella. She went for the good stuff and bought ice cream for dessert.

*

She slept almost all the way through the night, waking at 4 a.m. She tuned in on a heated debate between Bull and a regular caller. Something about morality and whether you’re complicit in someone else’s crime if you fail to speak up when you see them acting wrong. The caller, Blackwall, always called in with questions like this. Grace suspected he might be a university student looking for help with his essays, but he sounded a little too old and his name sounded fake. He had a gruff Marcher voice. Nice, but not as nice as Bull’s.

When Bull spoke, she saw his face, watched his lips form words, his throat bob up and down at a laugh. She couldn’t remember what colour his eye was, but in her mind, it sparkled like a diamond.

Blackwall finished his call and Bull played a song. Another new wave synth tune. It sounded like the sun rise.

“You know, the night’s almost over and that means breakfast is coming up. Or dinner, if you’re me. The two come to mean the same thing. Today I’m going to have roasted artichoke and peppers on bread. A nice, crusty, crunchy bread. With butter. Lots of butter. Damn, I love butter…”

Grace’s hand slipped under her nightdress when Bull started talking about dinner. She rubbed herself, two fingers over her lips and clit as he talked about artichokes. She’d seen him buy those artichokes. She pictured his mouth around them, his face. He had a face now. No longer a just a voice. When he started talking about his favourite cheese, she circled her clit faster, palmed her breast. She came, back arched, a little gasp escaping.

*

She dreamed of him. He was in her room, sitting on the end of the bed, legs crossed. He wore that singlet and those jeans. He filled the width of the small bed. She lay back, naked, knees bent, legs open to him. He told her how beautiful she was. He told her to touch herself. She did as he said, running her hands up her thighs, over her stomach. She circled her belly button, toyed with her hair. He told her to cup her breasts and play with her nipples. She ached with pleasure, her clit throbbing. He told her not to stop as he unfolded himself and leant forward, crawling up the bed. His face was between her legs, he was about to kiss her, she knew, he’d lick her clit and she’d explode.

She woke up.

She called out for him, cried his name, shoved her hand between her legs and rutted desperately.

No use. She lost it.

She buried her head under her pillow, cheeks hot with shame.

*

She hadn’t planned on being at the supermarket the same time as last week, but here she was. And he was there too. He ordered feta and ham, so she did too. Then she followed him around the supermarket. Nothing much interesting went into his basket. An avocado. A bunch of bananas. A new pink toothbrush. Two bags of basmati rice and three tubes of tomato paste. He bought a chocolate bar at the checkout.

When Grace got home she realised she needed more than just feta and ham for dinner. She called Cassandra, who brought kebabs, and they talked about work.

*

Bull asked for first time callers to ring in. Grace’ heart pounded. She felt faint as she reached for her phone. She clutched it a moment before pressing the numbers. Her thumb hovered over the call button.

“Hey, we’ve got Miss Harding on the line. What do you want to talk about, Miss Harding?”

“Oh, wow, I’m really on air, aren’t I?”

 

“You sure are.”

“Cool. Well, I really like dancing. Do you like dancing?”

“Dancing? Shit yeah! I love dancing! What's your favourite style?”

Grace’s phone screen went black. He sounded so excited, and that made Miss Harding even more excited. Grace smiled. She wanted to feel that excitement too, but she could only smile. Miss Harding had a funny accent like she’d lived in many places but never for long. She said ‘dancing’ with a short sharp ‘a’, like Bull. Grace tried pronouncing it like that too, but it sounded silly. “Daaaancing,” she said in the dark.

After Miss Harding, a man called Solas called. He didn’t like qunari and told Bull so. Bull politely hung up on him.

“Anyone out there like olives?” he asked. “I’ve been eating lots of olives. Man, they’re great. I’ve been saving the stones. Gonna try planting them. If you like olives too, give me a call. I’m gonna play a song about olives and afterwards we’ll see who ends up on air.”

Grace liked olives! Well, not really. She’d tried the ones she bought the other week but they were too salty. She should call anyway. She could ask him if he knew how they made stuffed olives. She swiped her phone and called. Her heart beat as her phone made clicky connecting noises. She squirmed, rubbing her legs together as she thought of her greeting. The phone tone came in. Engaged.

Rejection hit her hard in the chest. She heaved a sob, loud in the dark, echoing off the walls. She hadn’t felt this dejected since… since Leliana left her. And this was just a stupid phone call to a stupid radio station.

 

Her phone slipped from her hand and she turned the radio off before the song had finished.

*

Over lunch, Sera suggested they have a fondue party.

“It’ll be real fun, yeah. I’ll invite my friends and you can invite, well, you. We’ll all stuff ourselves with cheese and wine and when we’re done, we can fall asleep all bloated. It’ll be great!”

Grace considered Sera for a moment, wondering what the catch was. She wasn’t past trying to set Grace up with someone, and while Grace appreciated the thought, she didn’t really think much of Sera’s friends. But even if this was one of Sera’s elaborate plans, there was cheese involved. So Grace said yes.

“Great. It’s gonna be brilliant. We’ll do it Friday night. Can you get the cheese? That’s your area. I’ll get wine. We don’t need anything else, right?”

*

Grace’s basket hung heavy on her arm. Maybe she’d gotten too much cheese. She had gruyere from two different dairies and three camemberts. She also had gherkins and grapes and apples to cleanse the palate. Hardly traditional but it wasn’t like anyone would know. Last thing she needed was a little treat for herself.

She got the attention of the server. “Have you got any fenugreek gouda?” she asked.

“No, sorry. Only the cumin.”

She turned, dejected, only to slam straight into someone. Her basket fell from her arm and she started apologising as she bent down to grab her cheeses before they rolled away. He bent down too.

“Hey, you okay? I’m sorry, shouldn’t have stood so close.”

“No no, I’m fine. My fault. I didn’t--”

Their hands went for the gruyere at the same time as she recognised the voice. She looked up and he looked back. Green. His eye was green. Her fingers brushed his and she pulled away, startled at the electric touch.

“I’m so sorry,” she said again. She must look an idiot.

“Nah, you’re good. Here, let me help you.” Bull filled her basket and stood.

Grace smoothed her skirt and her hair before taking the basket from him, careful to avoid his hand lest she drop it all again.

“You planning a party?” he asked, nodding to her basket.

“Yes, sort of. Fondue. My friend is getting the wine but she wanted me to get the cheese because I know about cheese. She could have gotten the cheese herself. I could have written her a list, but I quite like shopping--” Grace took a breath. “I’m sorry. You didn’t need to know all that.”

Bull smiled. His eye twinkled. “Cool. Fondue. That’s real old school. You use a little burner thing for it, right?”

“Yes! You melt the cheese in a pot over the stove and add the wine. When it’s all gooey, that’s when you put it on the burner. The burner keeps it warm and runny. Then you can dip your bread in it. You have these little forks. Well, they’re not little. They’re long. You’re not limited to bread, either. I liked to dip gherkins and apples.” She smiled hopelessly. “I’m sorry, I’m rambling again.”

“Nah, sounds like you’re going to have a good time.” He lifted his own basket and nodded. “Sorry again about before.”

He started walking away when a bubble of courage burst forth.

“Wait! Sorry, I hope this isn’t rude. But, are you DJ Bull?” She felt her face heat up.

Bull grinned wide, showing his teeth. “Yeah, that’s me. The voice gives it away, huh?”

Grace bounced on her toes. “I love your show! Would you… if it’s not too much trouble, could I request a song? You must get that all the time. Don’t worry about it.”

“Yeah, sure, no problem. What do you want to hear?”

“That one by The Chargers. Horns up.”

He chuckled. “Good choice. What’s your name?”

“Grace.” She beamed. He’d asked for her name! He was going to play her request! _She spoke to him_. In person, no less!

She considered cancelling on Sera so she wouldn’t miss the show, but Sera would never let her hear the end of it if she did. When she arrived at Sera’s, the party was in full swing.

Most of Sera’s friends were elves, a few dwarves with carta tattoos on their cheeks.

“I’ve got some people I want you to meet. Handpicked for _you_. So you don’t have to be boring anymore.” Sera grabbed Grace by the hand and dragged her into the house.

A lithe elf caught Sera’s eye and sidled up to the pair.

“Grace, this is Jethaan. He works at the Blooming Rose.” Sera giggled.

Grace shook his hand. “Nice to meet you. Is that a florist?”

Sera started snorting while Jethaan gave a derisive laugh. “Sera, where did you find this one?” He looked Grace up and down, put a hand on his hip. “Honey, the Blooming Rose is the preeminent exotic dancing establishment here in wonderful Thedas.”

Sera chimed in. “He’s a stripper!” She dissolved into snorting giggles.

Jethaan looked at Grace like she was an idiot. Grace forced a smile and tried to hold the embarrassment at bay. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.” Luckily, she didn’t seem to be interesting enough for him for he caught the eye of a passer-by and peeled away. Grace made her excuses and escaped to the kitchen to prepare the fondue.

Sera leant against the kitchen bench, pointing out people. Grace had said no to all of them.

“What about Dagna? She’s cute.”

“I think she’s more interested in you.”

“Really? You think so? All right!”

*

Grace finally escaped at ten to eleven. She raced home, feeling a little sick with all the cheese and wine sloshing in her stomach but she made her way inside and flicked the radio on just as Bull’s show started. After his welcome, he played music until midnight, but not the song she’d requested. That was fine. Grace took the time to change into her nightdress, wash her face and brush her teeth. She settled into bed, lying on her side to face the radio.

“You know what’s great? Cheese. It’s weird shit. Do you ever think about how it’s made? It’s hot milk and bacteria mixed together. How does that work?” He went on to explain how a simple ricotta could be made at home with just milk from the supermarket. Grace writhed the whole time, her index finger sinking in and out of her. She pictured him in her kitchen, stirring the milk on her stove as she sat at the table, watching him, listening to him.

“There’s such a variety of cheeses, too. There are bold cheeses and weird smelling cheeses. Some cheeses are soft and need to be handled with care. Some can stand being left alone for long periods of time but some need company. Some cheese looks weird but tastes amazing. You know, it’s interesting how sometimes subtle flavours can make a bigger impact than bold flavours. Or how some flavours are okay on their own, but explode when paired with the right accompaniment.”

Grace suspected there was another one of his metaphors in there but she was too busy stroking herself to think about it. She’d reached her edge more than once while he spoke, and had had to lie like a starfish a couple of times to stop from coming too soon. She knew if she waited, the release would be gorgeous and her sleep deep. She just had to _wait_.

“Anyway, this next song is one of my favourites and is dedicated to Grace. Grace, if you’re listening, I hope your fondue party was a success.”

She came with a shake, electricity sparking from her clit, stars bursting behind her eyes, body trembling, nipples aching. She came and came, and continued to stroke herself down through the high as the song played. Then she built herself back up again.

*

The memory of her name on his lips sustained her for weeks. Sera asked if she’d been to see Jethaan after all.

“You’re still boring but you’re not as boring.”

Grace blushed, which resulted in Sera making kissy noises and demanding who the new person was. Grace avoided the question by asking Sera about Dagna. Sera could go on about her Widdle for hours.

*

She had that dream again, the one where he told her how to touch herself. This time when she woke up, she kept going, imagining his voice in her half-sleep state.

“Come, Grace. _Come_.”

*

She’d been doing so well. _So well_. Now she sat on a park bench, pulling the petals off a daisy and crying into her cardigan. Stupid. _Stupid_. She never should have gone back to that stupid little hipster shop but Sera had told her about a new arrival of socks. Ones with cats _and_ cheese, she’d said. So Grace had gone to check them out and had instead seen the pair nug earrings that had signalled the end of her relationship. She’d bought them for Leliana. She loved nugs and Grace loved cats. That was their thing. Their joke.

With every torn petal came another of Leliana’s trite excuses from that day.

_I don’t think I should accept this..._

_I’ve been feeling this way for a while now..._

_You’re a wonderful person, but..._

“Oh, Grace. Thank the Maker it’s only you.”

Grace looked up to see Cassandra peering down at her. Cassandra’s radio crackled with police talk. She ignored it and sat down.

“We got a call from someone saying that there was a crazy person ripping all the flowers from church’s garden.”

“It was only one daisy!”

Cassandra scowled, casting her glare across the park like she might find the anonymous accuser hiding behind a shrub.

“What are you doing?” Cassandra asked.

“Remembering things best left forgotten.” Tears ran down Grace’s nose and dripped onto her lap. She threw the remains of the daisy away.

Cassandra pulled her into a one-armed hug and held her for a long moment. “I have a spare ticket for the orchestra.” She sounded grumpy about it, like she hadn’t intended on having a spare ticket and was annoyed at whoever the ticket had been purchased for. “Would you like to come with me?”

“Will I get to dress up?” Grace asked.

“If you want,” Cassandra replied.

“You should wear your suit, and I’ll wear a gown. We’ll look quite the pair.”

Cassandra made a noise that Grace interpreted as agreement and held her for a while longer.

*

Cassandra picked up Grace in her patrol car and apologised for the smell, but didn’t offer an explanation. She didn’t say anything about Grace’s dress, either, until she’d parked the car. Under the fluorescent lights of the carpark building, Grace’s dress sparkled. She felt like a galaxy of her own making,

“May I say, you look stunning.” Cassandra looked shocked, but in a good way.

“So do you, Cassandra.”

Cassandra held her arm out for Grace, and the pair walked to the concert hall. Grace walked with her back straight, feeling beautiful and confident for the first time in months. She had friends, she realised, and she only needed to reach out for them. She would be okay, she was doing fine. She was happy being herself.

Cassandra’s tickets were for the atrium, a couple of rows from the front. They looked down on the orchestra as they set up, and then at the other concert goers. All sorts were here. An abundance of humans, but a scattering of elves and dwarves, too. A knot of qunari sat together on the ground level, looking out of place and uncomfortable.

The music was exquisite, perfect. Grace watched, enraptured, on the edge of her seat as the conductor pulled all the disparate instruments together. She caught a glance at Cassandra, who looked just as beatific. Really, she was a wonderful person and a valuable friend.

At the interval, Grace got up to stretch her legs. She bought two little tubs of ice cream, one for her and one for Cassandra. As she wandered back to her seat, a man standing head and shoulders above everyone else walked towards her, the crowds parting before him. He wore a baby-pink shirt with the top three buttons loose. He looked at Grace, recognition on the verge of dawning. Grace stared and smiled. He grinned back, lifted his hand to wave as he past. Grace floated back to her seat and was glad for her ice cream.

She watched all the entrances to the atrium and was rewarded when he walked through one of the doors that curved around the side of the hall. The lights dimmed but she never took her eyes off him. He watched the orchestra, leaning back in his seat. He was too far away for her to really see, but the way his head swayed in time with the music told her that he enjoyed the concert.

He disappeared after the concert. Grace kept an eye out for him as Cassandra lead them through the crowd and back to the car.

“Funny thing I saw,” Cassandra said as they drove home. “There was a qunari, but he wasn’t with the others. He was upstairs, on our level. I wonder why he was separated.”

Grace said that she hadn’t noticed.

*

Bull said he was in the mood to learn, so if anyone had something they could teach him, they should call.

Grace rang the station before her brain had a chance to catch up to what her hand was doing.

“Hey, this is DJ Bull. Caller, you’re on the air. What’s your name?”

She sucked in a breath, heart hammering a hundred beats a second.

“Hello, I’m Grace.”  
“Grace, hey. What can you teach me?”

She thought fast, not really thinking at all. “The other week you talked about cheese. You said how cheese is made. It’s really interesting! I thought I could tell you more.” She held her breath, half expecting to hear the disengaged tone. Instead he asked a question.

“Are you the Grace who I bumped into in the supermarket?”

“Yes! That was me! But I bumped into you.”

“Ah, details. So, tell me about cheese.”

She held the phone close to her ear and turned the radio down. She told him about curds and whey, how they formed and separated, and what you could do with them. She told him what additives were needed for cheddar compared to brie. She told him that some cheeses could only be made in certain parts of the world because of the grains and grasses that the cows ate. He asked her questions, like he was genuinely interested, and she replied with fervour. Lying there in the dark, hugging her phone, she felt like they were the only two people in the world. He was there with her, talking with her, and if she squeezed her eyes closed, she felt him holding her.

When the call finally ended, she realised they’d been talking for half an hour. Maker! She hoped the other listeners hadn’t been bored to sleep.

He played ‘Horns Up’ by the Chargers again, before he took another call, and Grace laughed in the dark.

*

“Uh oh, here’s trouble.”

Grace looked around to what Sera was grumbling about. A flash of red hair bobbed in the shop front. Her heart sank. She felt sick.

Leliana caught her attention and waved. Grace felt herself walking towards her like a fish caught on a line.

“Grace, how are you? I haven’t seen you in so long.”

 _That’s because you left me_. Grace forced a laugh. “I suppose it has been a while.”

“Cassandra said the two of you went to the orchestra. I hope you had a good time.”  
  
Grace knew Leliana well enough to know when she was digging. She gave a noncommittal answer, not prepared to ruin the memory of her lovely evening. Leliana clearly felt the need to tell Grace all about what she’d been up to in the last year. Grace nodded and smiled, and zoned out. When she noticed the pair of nug earrings hanging from Leliana’s ears, a flash of anger burst through her.

“What do you want, Leliana?” she asked. She blinked rapidly but refused to wipe her eyes. She was done crying over this woman.

“I…” Leliana stepped back, her mouth an ‘o’. “I wanted to adopt one of your cats.”

“Well you can’t have any!”

Both Grace and Leliana turned around to gape at Sera.

“You heard me. These cats aren’t for people like you. Now go away before I throw a jar of bees at you.”

Leliana’s jaw snapped shut. Her eyes narrowed, lips thinning. She turned and left, but not before whispering “I’m sorry.”

Sera came over to stand beside Grace. “Pfft. Good riddance. I mean, she was nice and all, and I suppose she could have one of our cats. But friends first, yeah? You’re friends. Friend. You know what I mean.”

“Who threatens to throw a jar of bees at someone?”

Sera shrugged. “Me, I guess. Don’t know how I’d get them in there. But if I did, I’d throw it at her.”

Grace’s knees wobbled even as her heart settled down. She needed air. “Can you look after the cats by yourself? I need to get out of here.”

Sera waved her away.

Grace went to the beach. She hadn’t made a conscious decision, she didn't think. That’s just where her feet took her. Despite the sun, the air was chilly. She wrapped her cardigan tightly around her as she skipped down the steps to reach the sand. The tide was half in. Or half out. She kicked off her shoes and scrunched her toes in the sand. Her feet moulded the sand around her, made perfect footprints as she walked out to the water. She gasped as water tickled her toes, screeched as she went out further to have a wave break over her shins. She felt good though. She felt free. The wind dried any tears that had fallen and she stared out at the horizon. She thought about something she’d heard on the radio months ago, about statues. She didn’t need to stand in one place only to have her past nibble away at her. She could let herself go with the tide, let herself go where ever she wanted. She was fine. She was happy. She had been happy for months now. She was happy being herself.

“Hey, fancy meeting you here.”

She jumped at the voice. She turned, surprised to see Bull wasn’t as close as he’d sounded. Then she stared. He had no shirt on, and his shorts were wet. Water dripped from his arms and face and horns. He was solid all over, with a belly that looked like it hid muscle under its roundness. He splashed his way over to her, heedless of the cold. Only when he got close did she see the goosebumps on his arms and his pebbled nipples.

“Maker, you must be freezing!” she said.

“Nah, not yet. Will be if I stand around here though.” He tilted his head towards the shore and she followed him, heart racing a million miles hour. He picked up a towel from a pile of clothes and shook out the sand. Her shoes were only a few meters away. She watched as he dried off his face and arms, then wrapped the towel around himself.

“What brings you to the beach on a day like this?” he asked.

“Me? What about you! You were swimming? In that?” She couldn’t believe it. Her toes had gone numb after only a few minutes. She couldn’t imagine going up to her knees, let alone _swimming_.

He laughed, a deep belly laugh. Water flicked off his horns as he threw his head back. “It’s good for you! Builds character. Or, something.”

Grace laughed too. He was preposterous!

“You didn’t answer my question. What brings you here?”

“I was thinking about statues,” she said, knowing that she hadn’t exactly answered truthfully. “I wanted to stand in the sea and see find out if I was a statue or not.”

Bull gave her a long look. She glanced away, nervous under his scrutiny. She felt like he could see right through her.

“And what have you found out?” He asked the question softly.

Her gaze was drawn back to him. She cast her eyes over his face and saw scars for the first time. A big set, over his left eye, dipped under the eye patch, only to poke out graze his cheek. His horns were rough, like the bark of a tree, and they glistened with water.

“I don’t need to fight the tide,” she said. “I can’t. So I may as well let it take me where it wants to go.”

She couldn’t read his smile, but his eye twinkled and he made a murmur of agreement.

“You listen to my show a lot, then?”

“Every night.”

“You can’t sleep? Or you like to keep weird hours.”

She shrugged with one shoulder. “A bit of both, I suppose.”

“So what do you think of qunari?”

He asked the question like he was asking what she thought of cantaloupes so she wasn’t taken aback at first. Then she realised, that like cantaloupes, she didn’t really know much about qunari.

“You’re all very big. And you seem quite serious a lot of the time. By ‘you’ I mean all of you, but you, Bull, you laugh a lot. I never hear the qunari laugh on the morning show.”  
“You listen to the morning show, too?” He seemed surprised.

Grace gave a sheepish smile. “Sometimes, when I forget to turn off the radio at night.”

He looked ready to say something else, lips parted, but instead he stared out at the sea. Grace didn’t know what else to say. She scrambled desperately for a question to ask, just so she could listen to him speak. She stared at him a moment, before joining him in assessing the sea. The breeze had died down allowing the sun to actually warm them.

Bull gave himself a little shake and held his towel between his knees. He pulled a shirt on and buttoned it up. She had a question, she realised, but whether she could ask it was another matter.

“Do you wear tee-shirts?” That wasn’t the question she burned to ask, but it would do.

He grinned. “Me? Not often. Can’t get them on all that easy. Other qunari can. I prefer shirts or singlets. Or if I’m at home, I just walk around naked.”  
Grace hoped he didn’t notice her very visible and audible gulp.

He pulled his hoodie on, zipping it up halfway, then he flicked the towel over his shoulder, hands on his hips like he was ready to go. “Got much planned for this afternoon?”

She swallowed again and licked her lips. This was just the invitation she needed. “Actually, I was wondering if maybe you wanted to get ice cream? Or coffee. Or anything really. A walk would be just as nice.”

“Heh. You asking me on a date?” Bull continued when she gave a hopeful nod with a hopeless smile. “Thing is, I don’t really do dates. I do sex, but not dates.”

“I....”

“Guess it’s a qunari thing. You humans, well, dwarves and elves too, but especially humans, have this whole ritual of getting to know each other through dinners and movies and… I don’t know what else you do. Picnics and ice creams. All leads to the same thing: going back to one your houses and banging. I cut the crap and go straight for what we’re both thinking.”

Grace blinked, stunned at the turn the conversation had taken. “But how do you get to know a person?”

“I’m a good judge of character.”

Grace frowned. That didn’t sound right but she didn’t feel like questioning him. She thought about sleeping with him. Not the actual sex part, she didn’t want to think about that right here. But, intellectually, could she do it? Sleep with someone she barely knew? Her heart was unsure but her vagina definitely was.

Bull cleared his throat. “So. Grace. Do you want to fuck me?”

She nodded, fast, head bobbing. “Yes, I would like that very much.” Maker, were they going to do it right now?

“Good. I want to fuck you too. But on one condition. We do this your way. I need you to tell me how you want me, what you want me to do with you. You got a couple of fantasies stored away in that head of yours? Let them out.”

She opened and closed her mouth like a fish. Maker, this wasn’t what she’d imagined! Surely they’d just, do it. Kisses and touching then the thrusting part. Fantasies were just that: fantasies. Dreams conjured in the light of the moon. Her mind’s eye pictured him in her room, sitting on the edge of her bed.

“You don’t have to tell me now. Take some time to think, and if you change your mind, no hard feelings, okay? Here, call me whenever you want.” He dug a scrap of paper out of the pocket of his hoodie and scrawled his phone number on it. She almost made a comment about knowing his number by heart, but the phone number on the paper wasn’t for the station. He put his hand on her shoulder, warm and heavy. Comforting. He made a move to go but she didn’t want him to leave. Not yet.

“What if… what if I just wanted you to hold me?” She had to crane her neck to look up at him. The sun made a halo behind his head, too bright. She squinted, and she saw a devious smile on his face. Eye crinkled and twinkling. He turned so he faced her, both hands on her shoulders now.

“We can do that, if that’s what you really want. But I want to give you what you really _need_.” He squeezed her shoulders and stepped back. “See you round, Grace.”

He waved and she waved back, watching him retreat. She kept watching until he’d walked up the steps to the street and disappeared into the crowd. She held the slip of paper in both hands. Just his phone number. No name, no note, no line of x’s. She shivered despite the warmth. This was… not exactly what she’d hoped for, but she supposed he wasn’t wrong. She did want to sleep with him and apparently he wanted to sleep with her too, so he just came out and said what they both wanted. Made sense, she supposed. She could change her mind, and so could he. No hard feelings, he’d said. But she did like the dating part. The little touches and looks, the conversation, the _anticipation_.

She entered the number in her phone, lest she lose the paper. With her phone safely back in her bag, she waded out to her knees, staring out at the horizon, and tried not think about Iron Bull’s voice caressing her body.

When she touched herself, she thought of Bull. Really thought of him and what it would be like if he were here, with her. She wanted him so desperately, wanted him to talk to her, and her alone. And he had offered her that very opportunity.

After a particularly vivid dream nearly to a week after his proposition, she resolved to call him. It didn’t have to be weird. Just say that she wanted him to talk to her. She called on her lunch break. The phone rang seven times before he picked up.

“Hello?”

He sounded half asleep and she almost hung up.

“Hello, it’s Grace. I’m sorry. Did I call at a bad time? I can call--”

“Grace, hey, nah, you’re good. Just woke me up is all.” The sound of a stifled yawn came though. “I’m glad you called. Thought I’d scared you off. So. What can I do for you?”

She wasn’t sure if that was an invitation to launch into her fantasy, and when she went to speak, she wasn’t sure if she still had her voice. After a couple of aborted attempts and Bull’s calming voice telling her to take her time, she spoke.

“I want you to tell me how I should touch myself.” She let it all out in a rush and cringed.

“Mmm, yeah. That sounds good. What else?” His voice was a purr and she felt herself warming up.

“Just that. Just… talk to me. Tell me where to put my hands, and what I should do. I want to watch you while you watch me.”

“Yeah, I can do that for you.” He chuckled. “I can definitely do that for you. Oh, this is going to be good.”

They arranged for him to come to her apartment on Saturday evening, on his night off. Grace offered to have a bottle of wine, but Bull declined, saying he’d rather they both be sober. “But if you’ve got any cheese…”

Once the call ended, Grace hurried to the bathroom. She slammed the stall door closed and sat heavily on the toilet lid. She shook. She shook with excitement and nerves and plain old anxiety. She’d done it. She’d called him and he’d not laughed at her or told her she was disgusting or hung up on her. He wanted her, and she wanted him. She waited until she could walk without her legs giving out before making her way back out front. Sera, for once, was too preoccupied to ask her why she looked funny.

*

She bought condoms on the way home. He hadn’t mentioned them, but then she’d not mentioned anything about him sticking it in. She figured she was better safe than sorry, and if they didn’t end up using them, she could always… give them to someone? A whole box seemed like far too many anyway. Maybe she should have just gotten a two pack from the vending machines in the public toilets.

Going to the supermarket gave her an excuse to choose cheese. She went all out, even though she knew it wasn’t a date, and he was coming over for a specific reason. Still, she felt like she should make the effort to be a good host.

*

On Friday night Bull talked about how the wind could shape trees, bend them and mould them. How near the coast, you could see how trees had grown according to the wind’s will. Any tree that tried to deny the wind got ripped up or pummelled. But that didn’t mean trees were powerless against the wind. They could still grow. They could stretch out their branches and let their leaves touch the sky. They could form safe knots inside their boughs for flowers to grow and birds to nest.

“You have to respect what is more powerful than you, but remember who you are, and what you are capable of even in the face of such power.”

In the background, wind whistled. It sounded like it was right outside her window. When she pulled back the curtain, she saw the trees dancing.

*

“I’m going to see someone.” She didn’t want to say she was going on a date, since Bull had been clear that this wasn’t a date, but she couldn’t tell Cassandra the exact truth.

Cassandra’s head whipped up. “Who is she? When are you seeing her? Do I need to do a background check?”

Grace smiled. “He. He’s a he. No need for a background check, but thank you. I’m seeing him this weekend. I was hoping--”

“I will call you at 9 p.m. exactly. If you don’t answer, I will try again seven minutes later and then--”

“Please, Cassandra. I would like you to call, but in the morning. He’s coming to my apartment. I don’t anticipate us leaving.” Cassandra blushed bright red, then Grace did as she realised the implication of what she’d said. Her mind wandered to Sunday morning, of waking up with the sun streaming through the window, of Iron Bull lying next to her, combing his fingers through her hair--”I’ve only got a single bed!”

Cassandra patted her hand. “If men are good for one thing, it’s using them as a mattress. Just stay on top of him.” Then, “You can call me any time. I will come and arrest him.”

“Your faith in my choice of partner astounds me,” Grace said.

Cassandra looked suitably chastised. “I do not want to see your heart broken again. That is all.”

“Thank you Cassandra.”

*

She changed outfits three times and vacuumed the apartment twice. She scrubbed the bathroom and put fresh sheets on her bed. She still hadn’t figured out how the single bed would work, but she wouldn’t let it bother her right now. The living room light was too bright but the lamp was too dim. Candles were too romantic. She left the kitchen light on along with the lamp and hoped that would be enough.

Finally, she prepared the cheese board. A soft Havarti, a crumbly aged cheddar, and a green-veined blue. It smelled awful, but Bull would appreciate the taste, she was sure. Grapes, quince jelly and apricot chutney rounded out the platter. They’d load it all up on toasted pita triangles.

All she had to do now was wait. She felt as far from arousal as possible. Maker, what if she chickened out and had to ask him to leave? She smoothed her skirt and pulled her socks up. Could she wear socks, or should she take them off? Would that be too casual? Slippers would be far too casual but shoes would just be strange.

The doorbell rang.

Grace jumped and yelped. This was it. She wiped her hands again to get rid of the sweat. She took a deep breath as she stood at the door. Forcing a big smile on her face, she pulled the door open.

“Hey!” she said, stepping aside for him.

“Hey.” His voice rumbled and she knew she wouldn’t need to worry about being turned on. He wore the pink shirt that she’d seen him in at the concert. He had it tucked into black dress pants. His shoes were shiny.

“Come in, make yourself at home…” She trailed off, not knowing what to expect. Would they go straight to her room or…

He took her invitation to heart, undoing his shoelaces and setting his shoes next to the couch. He sat down, resting his arm along the top of the couch. “Grace, come here, sit down.” She did as he said, sitting with her knees together with her hands clasped on her lap. “Listen, we’re not signing a mortgage or anything. We’re two people who want to have some fun. So, what can I do to help you relax?”

“We should have some cheese,” she said, standing abruptly and rushing to the kitchen. Maker, she needed wine. Carrying the board forced her to take her time. She set it on the coffee table, angling it just so.

“Shit, this looks good. What’ve we got here?”

She explained each of the cheeses and how the accompaniments would complement each one. She made up a couple of pita triangles, handing him one.

“Cheers,” he said.

“Cheers.” She felt herself relaxing.

They ate and chatted, Bull happy to carry the conversation while occasionally asking her a question or two and prodding for follow ups. Grace couldn’t quite believe that he was here, in her house, sitting on her couch and eating her cheese. It felt… natural. Normal. Two people having a good time. Over the course of their conversation, she’d shuffled closer to him, and he rested his hand on her shoulder. He’d curl a strand of her hair around his fingers while they spoke, and she’d touch his knee with her hand. They both reached for the last grape at the same time. Their fingers collided and Grace snapped back.

“You have it,” she said, already going for a piece of pita.

“No, it’s yours.” Something in his voice made her look up. His gaze was intense. She felt naked. “Take it. Bite it in half.”

Slowly, unable to tear her eyes from his, she took the grape. She did as he said, and bit into it. The skin popped between her teeth, juice dripping onto her lips. She swallowed the two halves, barely tasting it. Her tongue darted out to lick up the drops.

She was acutely aware of his hand on her shoulder, grounding her, and his sheer size. He wasn’t looming over her, but his presence filled the room. The tone had shifted from light and conversational to heavy, expectant. He was the only person that mattered right now, and he was here, with Grace. He didn’t stop staring at her, his smile enigmatic. He shifted, drawing one leg onto the couch and tucking his foot under his knee. He faced her now and she felt even more exposed.

“Good?” he asked.

She nodded. She’d never felt better.

“Face me, and take your socks off. Wiggle your toes.”

She did as he said, pausing to stuff a few cushions behind her. She bent her knees more out of embarrassment than anything but her skirt slipped down her thighs. She went to tug it up but Bull put his hand up.

“No, leave it. Leave your hands on your thighs. Yes, like that. Let me get to know you. Show me what you like.”

She breathed shallow breaths as she palmed her body over her clothes. She dug her toes into the couch as she cupped her breasts and ran her thumbs over her covered nipples. She gasped, surprised to find them so hard already. She drew her hands back to her thighs and heaved a breath.

“We’re gonna do exactly what you said on the phone, okay? But if you need a break, or you flat out want to stop, you tell me, and we stop. Here’s the kicker. I’m gonna take my time undoing you and I’m not gonna hold back. You? You’re going to hold back. Hold onto that orgasm, let it build but don’t let go. There won’t be any reprisals if you lose it. Just try your best.”

She nodded at his every word, feeling like she was going to come right then. Her clit pulsed as he spoke. She felt his voice as much as she heard it.

Something wasn’t right though, something kept her from being truly comfortable.

“Could, could you take your shirt off?”

Bull grinned. “I’ll take mine off if you take yours off.”

Grace laughed, feeling the last of her tension escape. She was left with light, bubbly anticipation. Joy and excitement. Bull unbuttoned his shirt and shrugged out of it. She took a moment just to look at his body, then started unbuttoning her own shirt. She popped the last button when he told her to stop and leave it on.

“Damn, you look good. No bra? You planned accordingly. Nice.”

She blushed at his praise.

“Stroke yourself, hands on your belly. Feel your shirt caressing your skin.”

She felt like she was touching herself for the first time. Her fingers left goosebumps in their wake.

As he spoke, he unbuckled his belt and pulled it free from his pants. He popped the button and unzipped his fly, but didn’t do anything else. She had the burning desire to leap over to him and press her chest to his, to feel his skin against hers. But his gaze glued her on the spot. Her shirt fell open, catching on one nipple before falling free. Bull licked his lips as he continued to smile.

“Got some great tits there, Grace. You want to touch them? Do it. Show me.”

She slid her hands up to cup her breasts, little fingers grazing the soft underside while she rolled her nipples between thumb and forefinger. She arched her back and gasped.

“Too much? Stop. Take off your skirt.”  
She shimmied out of it and let her knees fall open when he told her to.

“You’re soaked.” He growled and that noise alone caused another gush to her already sopping underwear. He leant forward but looked like he was holding himself back. He could touch her, if he wanted. She wanted him to. Instead, he told her to peel her underwear off. They stuck to her crotch and the smell of her sex hit her nose.

“Throw them here.” He caught them in one hand, held them up to his nose and breathed in deep. “Damn, that’s good.” Then, “Part your lips.”

She held her labia apart with two fingers, her hair tickling her palm. She wondered for a moment if she should have been bare, but Bull didn’t seem like the kind of guy to be bothered with details like that.

He set to talking to her, telling her what to do. Sometimes he went into minute detail, talking slowly so she could follow, other times giving her broad instructions. He kept his hands on his thighs, fingers curled. She realised that he was missing half of two fingers on his left hand. The ring finger and pinkie. And that his chest, too was covered in scars under all those tattoos. She didn’t have the presence of mind to linger on the details, so all-consuming was his voice.

She did everything he said. Sinking one finger, then two, then three deep inside, only to suck those fingers clean. She’d never tasted herself before, not like this. She tasted good. She wanted to hold her fingers out for Bull to suck.

He told her to touch herself feather light, then firm. Her nails were trimmed short, but when she dragged them over her nipples, she trembled. With every touch, Bull encouraged her. Her eyes slipped closed, only for her to open them again. He was here, with her, not on the radio. He was hers, and hers alone.

Time and time again he brought her right to the edge, and once she thought she’d tip, even after she’d pressed her hands against the couch and panted. Each time, he pulled her back, with soft, gentle words.

Bull let out a long exhale and Grace felt the air change again. He was building up to something, she could feel it. A sheen of sweat had broken out over her body in anticipation. He shifted, leaning forward. He had her balled up knickers in one fist. His belly hung over his open trousers. After all this, she wanted him to complete the scene, wanted his fingers between her legs and on her breasts. She tried to speak but only a croak came out. He loomed now, head and horns filling her vision. His one green eye met hers.

“Come, Grace. _Come._ ”

She felt his rumble wash over as her orgasm did the same. Sparks flew from her clit, blooming through her bloodstream. She trembled, then shook, whimpering and moaning with her fingers circling her clit.

“Keep going, keep coming.” His breath was hot on her skin. Two of her fingers found their way inside, caressing her and bringing forth another tsunami of pleasure. She gripped her breast, too hard, and reached up to grab Bull’s shoulder instead. He burned hot and she dug her fingers in like he was the only thing anchoring her to the earth.

Slowly, slowly, the shakes subsided. Her hand slipped from between her legs to hang limp over the edge of the couch. Bull stayed where he was, just looking at her with naked appreciation. She let go of him reluctantly and he pulled back.

“You good?” he asked.

A shiver went through her again, up her spine and down again.

He chuckled, low and easy. “That good, huh.”

Grace laughed and shivered again. “Please, don’t say anything.” Her voice rasped.

He looked ready to reply but he zipped his fingers along his lips instead. He took her legs, stretching them out and resting them on his lap. He had his head tilted to face her, one horn pointing over the back of the couch. She couldn’t think, couldn’t speak and didn’t want to. She lay on the couch, her legs on his lap and her arm behind her head, and couldn’t think of a better place to be.

*

She woke up, not having realised she’d fallen asleep. Bull was still on the couch but he’d thrown his shirt over her. She shivered, cold now.

“You’re still here,” she said.

“Mmhmm. I’m not going anywhere.”

She wiggled her toes. “Do you want to do it again?” she asked, biting her lip.

Bull’s feral grin gave her his answer. He pulled her legs, dragging her to him. She scrambled onto his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“This time, I want you to touch me,” she said.

“Can do.”

*

She touched him, too. He got just as naked as her and told her where to put her hands, how to stroke him. He wasn’t as soft as he looked, skin almost leathery, and jagged from all the scars. The broke from a long kiss, foreheads together. She looked down at his erection, dark and hard with a silky head.

“I don’t think I can fit that in me,” she said.

“I wouldn’t expect you too.”

“So I needn’t have bothered buying the condoms.”

“You bought condoms? You thought of everything.” He kissed her nose. “Here, give me your hand.”

He wrapped her hand around his cock and told her how to touch him.

*

The phone ringing woke Grace like a bucket a cold water had been thrown on her. She jumped and scrambled, only for her mattress to wobble under her. It rumbled and muttered a curse. She grabbed her phone, steadying herself on her headboard.

“Hello?”

“Grace, it’s me. Are you okay?”

“Cassandra! Yes, I’m fine. I’m great!” The mattress--Bull, shifted under her. “I took your advice,” she whispered.

“Which part? The one where you threatened to--”

“No, not that part. You’re right. On top is best.”

Cassandra was quiet for a moment and even in her sleep addled state, Grace could feel the smile on the other end of the phone. “I’ll leave you be.”

“I’ll call you later.” Grace hung up the phone and put it back on the bedside table. The clock read 8 a.m. Typical Cassandra.

Bull cleared his throat and smacked his lips. “Everything fine?” he asked.

“Yes, just a friend. She said she’d call. She’s very protective.”

“Good to have friends like that.” He shifted, wrapping Grace up in his arms as he sat up. She snuggled into his side, with just enough room on the bed to keep her from falling off.

She felt wonderful, perfect, whole. He’d been here, with her, and he’d done exactly what she’d wanted, given her exactly what she needed, and then some. But she knew this couldn’t last. She licked her lips, hating the way her tongue felt. She forced herself to ask the question that she’d shoved to the back of her mind the previous night.

“Do you do this a lot? With other people, I mean.”

“Whoa, starting in with hard questions first thing, huh?”

She felt her face heat up and wished she could take it back. He leaned back, horns hitting the wall. She looked up at him. He looked down at her.

“You got questions. I got answers. But we need tea or coffee. No, I got it. You stay here. Kitchen, right?” He leaned forward and she scrambled behind him as he lumbered out of bed.

“I don’t have coffee, sorry.”

“Tea’s good.”

Grace watched as he wandered out her bedroom, stark naked. His back shone bright grey in the morning light. She let her gaze settle further down. She smiled. He had to turn his head to keep from banging his horns on the door frame. She listened to him wander through the apartment. Bathroom door closing, toilet flushing. Kitchen cupboards opening and closing. Cups clinking, kettle boiling. She’d usually been the one making the tea in the morning, when they spent the morning in bed together. She liked getting up first and puttering around, but she liked this too.

Bull came back with two cups in one hand and the teapot in his other. Grace helped him set them down and they did the awkward shuffle to let him back into bed.

“I got a question for you first,” he said, pouring tea into the cup Grace held. “How long did you spend lying in this bed, touching yourself to me talking on the radio before you plucked up the courage to ask for it for real?”

Grace gaped at him. “How did you know?”

He shrugged. “Had a hunch.”

She sipped at her tea, embarrassed by how transparent she must have been. How much of a fool she’d been, right from the start. “I’ll tell you once you’ve answered my questions.” He shrugged again. “So. How many people have you done this with?”

“How many people have I slept with, you mean? Does it matter? I’m clean, and when I’m not, I see a healer who waves it all away with his magical crap.” He sounded defensive, like he didn’t want to have to explain himself.

“I suppose it doesn’t matter. You said you didn’t date, and that sounded like you don’t have relationships either. But, your condition, the fantasy, making it a reality. That’s… I wasn’t expecting that.” She hoped she didn’t sound like she was accusing him of anything.

“Was good though, huh.” He elbowed her and waggled his eyebrows. She laughed, glad that she hadn’t offended him. “Simplest way to describe it, is I’m a giving guy. You got an itch you can’t reach and I can’t help but offer to scratch it.”

She wanted to ask again how many people he’d done this with, how many of his listeners he’d fulfilled fantasies for, but she didn’t actually want to know the answer. She was happy to pretend she was the only one, even knowing she wasn’t. She dipped her head, pulling the next question up with a tug.

“Could we do it again?”

Bull made a noncommittal sound. “The couch is good and all, but a bed is better, and as cute as this is, I kinda like to stretch out without getting my horns stuck in the wall.”

“Is that a yes, then?”

“How long have you wanted me?”

“Close to a year.”

“Yeah, it’s a yes.”

*

“You’re getting laid, aren’t you. I can tell. You’re you again.” Sera threw a cat toy at Grace.

Grace giggled and threw the toy back.

“Urg. You’re gross. So who is they?”

“They?”

“Can never tell with you. You’re always staring at everyone. Could be a he, could be a she.”

Grace gave Sera the barest of details. When she said he was a qunari, Sera screeched and threw the whole basket of cat toys at her.

“How does that even work? No. Don’t tell me. Don’t want to know.” She stared off into the distance with a disgusted look on her face. “Is it serious?”

“Like you and Dagna? No. It’s light and casual. He sees other people, and I can too if I want.”

“And you’re okay with that?” Sera’s expression had shifted from disgust to disbelief.

Grace smiled, thoughts drifting to her queen-sized bed. She’d been sleeping through the night for a whole month now, only staying awake on the weekends when Bull came over. Sometimes she stayed up to listen to the start of his show, or woke up early to catch the end. Sometimes she touched herself, sometimes she lay back and listened to what he said, not just his voice. She was beginning to understand the metaphors. She didn’t mind being a tree in the wind, or a leaf on a river. She was herself, and she was happy with that.

“Yes, I couldn’t be happier.”


End file.
